Wicked Grace---Of Swords and Sheilds
by tdg12
Summary: A fortnight since killing Hadriana leaves Fenris full of overwhelming emotions. Every week the gang gathers for Wicked Grace. Thanks to Hawke's need for an audience, Fenris gets the opening he needs to...sheathe his pent up broadsword. - I own nothing, that much is obvious. Mature for sexy stuff, not too sexy unfortunately, I'm not that good. Female Sarcastic Hawke/Fenris


**Author Note:**

 _I got very...inspired to write this fic after reading (quite a few) on here and before I knew it I had 4k words out and my fingers wanted more. However, knowing my terrible ability to never finish stories, I have decided to stick to drabbles and one shots until I find a way to not break every laptop I own or otherwise find it in my heart and soul to finish something (anything) I start a commitment to. With otherwise ado (and a warning, this was edited by sleep deprived me and therefore grammar is an ass I haven't dealt with since the 2012 so...sorry for that) I give you my lovely fluffy Fenris/Female Hawke piece. I feel like half of my love for him spurs from the fact that my sister hates him (as she does Solas and I'm about to attempt a one shot to sway her otherwise)._

 _thanks, teresa_

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"And don't you dare write she was so bloody tight he felt he would explode from the feeling or other blighted bull you write in your novels. There is no way in which that would be possible." The snort that left the dwarf's nose was audible even two seats down from the table where he was sitting. Of course, his hearing was better than most people, especially when Hawke was speaking even if they were in a dimly lit dive hole of a tavern filled with a raucous bunch after a long work week. He grinned from behind his hand of cards, careful not to let slip his face lest someone thought it was a tell. He was rather good at Wicked Grace but right now he wasn't focused on the game at hand. Right now he was straining his ears to the conversation at the end of the table, doing his best to ignore the abomination's mumbling about his pitiful hand, or the maleficarum's questions as to the rules (which bit at his nerves considering they'd been playing every week for the past three years they've been grouped together here in Kirkwall) and what hand trumped what. The largest obstacle in his path, however, was that of the damned prince and his constant rejections of the horny pirate (who was usually entrapped and aiding Varric with his erotica that he wondered why Hawke was speaking with him about it in the first place) as the last of the Starkhaven royal had a voice that cut through the timbre of the entire pub.

"Hawke, you cannot be serious? You're telling me a man never wound you so tight it made your lady parts tingle, that he never rubbed you the right way or that his mouth never—" Hawke cut Varric off with a slap to the back of the head. Everyone displayed their cards and Aveline won the hand and he found he no longer cared about the game and was now letting his body puppet through the remaining hands as he trained his ears fully on her response. He wasn't trying to be obvious, or overstep their boundaries although he wasn't quite sure what their boundaries were any longer… not after that night he killed Danarius's apprentice, Hadriana.

Everything had changed for him, although in a way it hadn't. He still felt angry all the time, although considerably less when he found himself in Hawke's presence. And when he came to apologize for his behavior, he had felt ill at the thought of hurting her feelings, he had never expected (maybe hoped and imagined) that she would ask him to stay. That night was amazing for him and he felt so conflicted over it.

That was over a fortnight ago and his body ached with confusion about his memories, resentment against Danarius as the cause of his memory loss and his ability to still somehow hinder his desires from becoming true, and ultimately his ever increasing need for Hawke… he wanted to see her, to be her shield in battle, to touch her pearlescent skin again, hell he'd even settle for her teaching him the damn alphabet and how to read again if it meant he could be in her immediate presence. Maker he was screwed.

He bit back a groan as he realized his inner lust had caused him to miss the first part of her rebuttal against Varric. "… I don't expect a dwarf to have an understanding of human physiology, but if he is doing his job she should be ready to accommodate whatever the size of his… How did you word it? Ah yes, his broadsword. Anyway, my point is that it's a muscle, her…sheath? Really Varric people enjoy this smut?" Hawke wrinkled her nose in disgust as she read from the manuscript in front of them, the card game forgotten as both had folded and the only reason Fenris was still in the game was due to his absent-minded upping the bet. Varric had a smug grin under his crooked and scarred nose.

"Maybe you just have had too many swords sheathed – " Varric didn't get to finish his insult, which had earned another slap to the nape of his neck from Hawke and her lightning fast reflexes.

"It's a bloody muscle, Varric meaning it can be tensed and relaxed. If he is doing his job, she's relaxed unless she's intentionally clenching, which she wouldn't do to prevent his access to her, she would only do it after he was spent to increase pleasure due to sensitivity. Otherwise…" Fenris looked up from his cards to see why she had trailed off. Oh no, she had an audience.

Isabella had caught on to the heated discussion at the end of the table and halted game play completely. Sebastian was starting to squirm uncomfortably in his seat, probably wracking his brain for a decent excuse to leave before he just decided to chug the rest of his pint. Anders was staring with an open interest that made Fenris sit up a bit straighter, eyeing the mage with blatant distaste on his face. He had better not be thinking about Hawke's…sheath. Merrill was grinning with a confused smile, probably wondering why on earth there was such a fuss over swords and female sheath designs for them and how it was a muscle. Damned mage was a bit oblivious most of the times. Aveline had choked on her pint, clearly not sure she had heard correctly but a thump on the back from Hawke and a playful grin on the rogues features assured them she was ready to give them what they (or rather only a few) of them wanted. Varric was grinning like a cat who'd found his dinner. He knew where Hawke's buttons were, he'd known her for almost four years and he knew how to get her so heated about a topic she once spent a two weeks ranting about it to anyone who'd listen. He also knew that Hawke was best when she had an audience and he'd given her just that. Fenris felt his blood pump faster and didn't care to think about what was causing it to rush about his body in such a way. Fenris watched as her grey eyes sparkled with mischief and a devious grin grew on her soft lips, Maker did he miss the softness that was her peach lips.

She continued, projecting her voice so the whole table would hear her and Fenris did his best not to look eager, but merely attentive as calmly as he could be given the growing need he had for her. "Otherwise, he must be a Hurlock or something because he cannot perform the very easy foreplay it takes to prime a woman. Didn't you say the knight captain was a warrior? Tell me, what man that uses his two hands daily in combat would be so useless with them he couldn't even caress her desires enough to allow him entry? So I stand by my point. Why would the captain allow a man, and fellow warrior at that, to get her naked to the point of desire and then she be so tight he barely fit? Unless you're having him rape her, I don't think it is at all possible for a guard captain like her to get herself in a situation where she would be over powered unless she wanted it. And if she wanted it," Hawke finally took a breath and glanced about the table, smile widening as she took in her audience. Her grey eyes found their resting place as she finished her rant. "she would not be tight at his entrance. The muscle can expand up to two hundred percent it's size, Varric. I don't know about dwarf physiology but with humans that's doubling two to four inches on average. As in taking a broadsword that is four to eight inches in length and that's on average. So she wouldn't be tight the whole bloody time and anyone who thinks so is a moron. So unless she's a virgin, which is confirmed otherwise in previous chapters due to her late husband, and unless it's been a long time since sheathing has been done (which again, it hasn't due to previous chapter) she wouldn't be too tight." Fenris felt his grip (among other things) harden as he gulped the rest of his ale.

Sebastian jumped up and excused himself from the table, face blushing and mumbling about needing to confess or something otherwise annoyingly over zealously religious. Merrill was wide eyed and had her mouth open in a small o shaped gasp, finally catching the gist of their conversation. Anders stared openly at Hawke, his face a washed in admiration and curiosity. Fenris stilled the growl in his throat as he glared at the mage. He'd better not be thinking about Hawke. Isabella was whooping and clapping, raising a toast to Hawke as if she'd delivered a fine speech. She was also fanning herself and left the table in search of a 'release of tension' as she had described it. Aveline was now coughing after choking on her drink, glowering at a fox grinned Varric. She was mumbling about how he'd better be glad she was happily married or he'd have to deal with her guardsmen investigating his business more thoroughly than ever before. She also mumbled something about not being attracted to curly headed blondes. Varric was busy scribbling down words on parchment, eager to get his ideas out of his head before he became too drunk to recall them.

But Fenris only paid the group a glance of attention, as he was being held captive by a pair of stormy grey eyes. Hawke let her grin fade and allowed a small smirk of a smile to dance a gross her lips, a smile just for him. She downed the rest of her ale and stood, bowing to her audience, letting her curly mane flip dramatically about her. She was a showman who lived for theater, which was half the reason she and Varric got along so well thanks to their flare for storytelling and dramatics. "Now, if you lot shall allow I have a warm mansion and empty bed awaiting me. Unless of course, that damn dog hasn't been listening to me." Her eyes never left his as she addressed the group, though no one paid much attention to it, they were calling out their goodbyes and promises of games next week provided Varric wouldn't do his novel writing in their presence so that they could maybe finish a game or two before tavern had last call.

Fenris read the questions in her eyes, the invitation in her statement and felt all his blood surge a hundred times faster throughout his body. His skin recalled the memory of her touch and he swore his lyrium markings flashed dimly at the memories. He inclined his head, eyes never leaving hers. She returned the gesture. When she turned to walk out the tavern he felt himself stand as if pulled by a string connected to her. No one but Varric noticed the scraping of his chair, everyone too far drunk or in their own conversations now. But Fenris too wasn't as attentive to small details at the moment, as he found his footsteps following the ones left by his companion. He was about to step out the door when a hand was placed on his forearm and Fenris instinctively reached for his sword before turning to see it was only the loud Dwarven merchant who stopped him.

"Don't toy with her." Maybe the alcohol had loosened his already loose lips, and his desire to protect his friends overwhelmed his fear of the elven warrior's temper, but Varric was matching Fenris's hard gaze with one of his own. Feeling boosted by both alcohol and lack of pain inflicted by his friend, the dwarf continued his warning. "She may be loud and joke her way out of her feelings, but she's like my little sister. Don't fuck it up." Varric's face softened and Fenris frowned, uncomfortable with discussing feelings in general, especially with his tipsy Dwarven companion. Varric let out a very animated hiccup and patted Fenris on the arm before sauntering back to his table where he began to hold court and recant the tales of the latest mission that Hawke, Fenris, and Sebastian went on involving the Harimann estate and desire demons. As always, with Varric, there was the added fib of ten or twenty extra men or shades to be fought and random battles seemingly coming from out of nowhere.

Fenris shook his head, now clear from any alcohol affects and left the building. His feet took him back towards the mansions in Hightown as he let his mind wonder over the evenings events. It was a rather uneventful evening when compared to some nights he spent traversing across Kirkwall in the dead of the night with Hawke and whatever other two companions she chose for the adventure. But, in other ways, it was the most promising evening he's had in days. If he was reading Hawke right, as he often read her body language correctly in battle but had small experience outside the comrade zone, then she was giving him a chance. Be it a chance to further explain his departure and his need for space, or his confusion he felt wrenching at his brain, he did not know. He simply wanted her presence and felt driven by the need to be near her. He'd forgotten, at the moment, exactly why he'd left her bed that night or why he didn't return as soon as he realized what he was missing.

Maybe that was it? He shook his head as he stopped walking and looked at his surroundings. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he saw the familiar Crest on the front door and realized his feet had not taken him home but instead lead him to what he was truly yearning for.

The house appeared dark and he wondered if he dared entering, for a sudden embarrassment washed over him as he contemplated the idea that he may have misread the entire situation and maybe Hawke wasn't interested after he'd been an ass and left her for two weeks with no answers to her questions. Maybe she realized she deserved better than a bitter eleven slave whose body was tainted with dirty magic from a vile magister and she no longer wished to be near him less it was a group setting.  
He stumbled backwards and glanced around to make sure he hadn't been seen. Although he was normally good at keeping to shadows and being unnoticed, he could be easily spotted thanks to the markings and hair color cursed upon him.

"Fuck." Fenris growled in his native tongue, growing tense with frustration and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't used to becoming unhinged. Control was his forte and he was a master at hiding and never let himself into situations where he was this unsure.

He lost his nerve and spun on his heel, about to head across the courtyard to his own hijacked estate when the sound of a dog (a mabari to be exact although he was sure it was the only large dog in all of Hightown estates) barking caused him to freeze. No. He should be asleep. That damn mutt was always sleeping by the fire and never once barked due to Fenris. Was she in trouble? Of course, trouble seemed to gravitate towards Hawke and she made no show of stopping it or letting it slip she wasn't up for the task brought upon by said trouble. He waited a few moments and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. Of course he was probably hallucinating the dog barking. Maybe a part of him missed the canine companion.

Yeah, it was the dog he missed most in that house. He snorted. The thought sounded ludicrous even in his own head.

Fenris was about to return to his hijacked mansion when the sound of a door opening made him, once more, freeze in his tracks. Not two seconds later he was knocked clear on the ground by a massive force and he twisted to face his attacker. No sooner than he lay flat on his back was he attacked by a large hot tongue and stale dog breath. He groaned, trying to shove the beast off his body but inwardly smiling at the blatant affection from the intelligent creature. He felt a soft spot for the canine warrior, just as he had for…

"Did you come all this way to make out with Thierry or did you need something?" Her voice caused him to jump up at attention and he was thankful for the cover of darkness as he felt his cheeks tint with a light blush. Thierry, her damn mabari hound, barked in confusion and ran back inside. Obviously he felt his master was safe with their intruder, and he sought the comfort of the Ottoman of the second floor.  
"I wasn't sure. I hadn't realized I'd gotten this far till I arrived." Fenris felt the explanation tumble from his lips and he finally allowed his gaze to meet hers. Her eyebrow was arched in question, her smirk displayed proudly on her peach plump lips, her eyes dancing in the moonlight.

Fenris lifted a hand to better stretch out the tension building at the base of his neck. Never again would he listen to Varric and his damn novel readings or he'd turn into some sappy smut type poet who pined for things.

She coughed to help cover the fact that she had laughed at his response, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable feeling she was getting Fenris settled into. She was evil and vile and everything Fenris wanted at the moment. She knew exactly her effect on him and he glared at her in response. "Do I need to get you two a room?" Fenris loved her laugh. He glared, trying to latch on to his fading irritation with her and trying to ignore the affection he felt for her swell in his abdomen. "I've got a rather large empty bed if you'd like some privacy with your –"

He didn't let her finish. He crossed to where she was standing in the doorway in two long strides and pulled her into a kiss that he felt to his toes. His body came alive, both the lyrium markings from her hands touching his skin and the sensation of her lips and body pressed to his. She stumbled backwards a moment and they fell inside the door pulling shut with them as Fenris felt his desire and need for her consume his motor skills. This time he didn't fight for control but rather embraced the animalistic way his body responded to his urges for her.

She opened her mouth, presumably to speak as she often spoke and spoke too often, and Fenris captured her mouth with his, slipping his tongue to be reunited with her own. She gave up the desire for conversation and responded as fervently as he attacked her. They fell to the floor in a passionate heap, barely making it to the fuzzy rug in front of the dying fireplace. The foyer was empty save for them. It must've been late for Bohdan and Sandal to both be asleep.

Fenris felt her body eagerly and greedily. Although it had only been two weeks since he'd felt her, it seemed like much longer. He needed her touch again, to feel the heat of her hand on his back, his chest, his face… Maker he needed her touch.

She let out a soft moan and he felt himself about to become undone just from the small noise. "Fenris…" She whispered his name in an exhale of ecstasy as his lips met the curve of her neck and shoulder while his hands found the flesh of her outer thigh under her house robes. He nipped her neck and tasted her skin to elicit the amazing noises she let escape her body. She fed his desire with each whimper, each moan, and the way she let his name form on her lips…

Fenris squeezed her thigh with one hand while holding his body over hers with the other. He let his hands ghost over her skin, causing goose flesh to raise and he felt a satisfied grin spread in his lips. He did this to her. He made her body react in such a way. He created autonomous responses from her that she had no control over. He relished the feeling of control and fought for it as she pulled him close, his hands now straddling the side of her face. She held on to him, almost like she was afraid if she let go he might disappear.

He felt his markings tingle from her touch, the pleasant sensations adding to the already stimulated parts of his body. He groaned when she bucked her hips up to his and he felt her meet his groin. He wasn't wearing his armor, as he never did on nights he played cards at The Hanged Man. His simple pants were doing a terrible job of concealing his growing length that throbbed with need of her touch.  
He felt her giggle beneath him, knowing she felt her effect on has body. He growled in the back of his throat and their kisses stopped as they gathered their breath and stared at each other.

"So…" For the first time since he met her Hawke was at a loss for words. He grinned in triumph, taking this moment as a win in his books.

"What's wrong, Hawke, cat got your tongue?" His smirk widened when she glared at him.

He barely had time to register the deviant look in her eyes before he felt it. Her hand on top of the bulge in his pants. She squeezed and he groaned, buckling to his knees which now straddled her left leg. He placed his forehead on her shoulder as he shook his head with a moan.

"What's wrong, Fenris," the way her voice carried out his name he felt like a rat who'd been swooped up for dinner by the deadly hawk. And swooping was bad. "Having trouble with your broadsword?" She teased and ran a finger around the exposed skin above his collar, causing a shiver to run down his spine. Whatever control he had was now lost and she was fully in power now.

"Maybe I need your sheath." His voice was a low, guttural growl as he sucked at her neck, making her temporarily lose her voice as she gasped in pleasure from his attack.

They both fought for control over the battlefield that was the fireplace rug. Back and forth they twisted, each time rolling dangerously close to the fire only to pull back and lose their senses in the tangle of their limbs.

It could've been hours or days, neither really had a grasp on time as of the moment, when they stopped their wrestle long enough for one of them to speak.

They panted into the dying firelight. They were both fully clothed, albeit a little rumpled, but felt stark naked under the intense gaze of the other.

"So…" Hawke found her voice first as she gathered the last of her will and courage to ask the question that's been haunting her for two weeks. "Will you stay this time?" She didn't let her gaze waver from his olive green eyes as she felt her voice die with her question. Immediately she wanted to get swallowed by the floor, but she held her ground and waited with bated breath for his response.

Fenris didn't even have to think any longer about her questions than it took her to say it. "I will stay as long as you'll have me, Dida." Her first name felt exotic and special on his tongue. It was rarely that he called her by her first name. It was seldom that anyone called her by it anymore, not since her mother was murdered.

Her face lit up with excitement and she pulled him in for a deep kiss, now completely losing herself into him.


End file.
